


all your promises are lies you couldn't keep

by WhatsATerrarium



Category: The AM Archives (Podcast), The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Major AM Archives Spoilers, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26703634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsATerrarium/pseuds/WhatsATerrarium
Summary: You cry at the realization that this is all your fault, and you hate that you honestly can’t remember the last time you cried.(Major spoilers for The AM Archives.)
Relationships: Owen Thompson | Agent Green & Ellie Wadsworth
Kudos: 11
Collections: Owen Green





	all your promises are lies you couldn't keep

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Move On" from We Are The Tigers.
> 
> Thanks to Theo (tweedle_lee) for proofreading and helping with the title!

You don’t expect yourself to gasp. You don’t entirely know how you expected yourself to react, but the way your body recoils, as though it’s trying to protect your mind from the sight, surprises you. Still, you have to bring yourself to look.

But once your eyes settle on him, you can’t take them away.

People always say such sugar coated, superficial things. ‘He looks like he’s sleeping.’ That’s one you’ve heard about dead people before.

You don’t buy it, though. You’ve seen him sleeping. Passed out at his desk from exhaustion or passed out drunk in the back of a cab. He looked peaceful, he looked real, he looked content, but now he just looks  _ wrong _ . He looks lifeless, and bloody, and he may have been the palest man in the world to begin with, but you can still  _ tell  _ by the lack of color in his face already.

The most startling reaction your body has, though, might be the dry eyes.

You’re not sure if you expected yourself to cry or not, and you have even less of a clue why you aren’t.

You should be, you know that much. You know that your relationship wasn’t perfect. You know that things got messy all those years ago. He got bitter and you got distant, then he got complacent and you got controlling. Joan left and the two of you retreated into your own little worlds. His, a world of loneliness, and emptiness; yours, a world of secrecy, isolation, and determination enough to blaze through anyone in your path.

You never wanted him to be one of those people. Maybe that’s the proof that no matter how rocky things are—  _ were _ — between the two of you, you really did still care. You never wanted him to get in your way because people in your way get hurt.

The tears do come, eventually.

They come at the realization that all you ever really ever tried to do was protect people. Rebecca, Elijah, Adam, Joan, Owen, even Helen. You wanted them to be safe. You tried so hard to keep them all safe, so you did the only thing you knew how to do. You manipulated them, you lied to them, you tried to hurt them to bring them around to your way of thinking, and now you’ve done irreparable damage in trying to bring them around to a worldview you’re only now beginning to question.

You cry at the realization that this is all your fault, and you hate that you honestly can’t remember the last time you cried.

Looking at him feels like some form of torture. His expression feels like an ache in your chest. For every time you’ve wanted to wipe that stupid smile off his face, there are now a thousand things you’d give to see it one more time.

You consider touching him; squeezing his hand or cupping his face or running a hand through his hair. You were never very affectionate with him before, but the idea that this might be the last time you have the chance is strangely terrifying.

You decide against it. There’s something about him that seems so untouchable, like there’s some invisible force willing you to stay away from him. The idea of disturbing him in any way feels so unnatural.

You also consider saying something, for no reason other than to give yourself some form of catharsis.There are so many things you could say to describe what you’re feeling right now and the many emotions you’ve felt towards him in the time that you knew each other, but nearly all of them require a follow up and enough elaboration to make up a conversation between two people.

Maybe you should have had some of those conversations when you still had the chance.

You take a moment. You squeeze your eyes shut, and wait as long as it takes for you to stop seeing his face in the back of your mind. You open your eyes and the vision before you almost sends you into shock all over again. Still, the tears have stopped flowing and you have too much to do. You wipe your eyes. You take a deep breath. You stand up straight. You turn around and head back down the hall away from him. You’ve done so many things in your life, and leaving him here is one of the hardest. You’re not ready. You haven’t had nearly enough time to process, to mourn, to fully grasp the fact that when you walk away, he’ll be carried out in a body bag and his blood will be scrubbed out of the floor.

You’re one of the last people in this building. The moment you leave is when this night ends, and so when you leave is when he truly dies.

Then again, you’ve both had to kill parts of yourself to become and remain the people you are--  _ were. _ And you want, for the sake of  _ progress, _ or whatever the hell it was you used to use to justify everything, to pretend that this isn’t any different. That he isn’t really gone and that it isn’t all for the fault of your  _ cowardice. _

All for the fault of your illusion of progress.

Owen is dead.

Owen Green is dead because you decided to bury Helen. Because you were so scared that you had to erase all proof of any  _ threat. _ Because you thought you knew what was best for everyone. One of the only friends you’ve ever had is dead because of your fucking god complex.

You send in the medical examiners waiting outside as you leave, barely even glancing their way. As always, you have to look forward.

You know that it’s going to be your undoing. That it’s going to be others’ undoing--  _ that it already has--  _ but change will have to wait until tomorrow, because for now, there are still things to fix.

You want to change, you really do. You want to be different. You don’t want your life to be ruled by this idea of progress that you’ve held onto for so long. But change is a slow process, and it’s not one you’re prepared to go through this exact second.

There are still things to fix. There is still progress to be made, and progress, as much as you hate to admit it, will wait for no one.

**Author's Note:**

> So a big reason why I don't usually leave comments is that it doesn’t feel like a conversation, it feels too definite. So, as opposed to asking you to leave comments (which I do still very much appreciate and will respond to if that’s your thing), I’m going to let you know how to contact me!
> 
> Instagram: whats_a_terrarium  
> Discord: whats_a_terrarium#0251  
> Tumblr: whats-a-terrarium  
> Twitter: whatsaterrarium
> 
> If you have any thoughts, ideas, constructive criticism, or just want to ramble, never hesitate! :)


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